Full Moon
by OsirisLord
Summary: Set amidst the backdrop of the Pacific Northwest, the first tale in the Shadow War cycle tells of Jason Issacson, an angry and frustrated youth disillusioned with his peers, his heritage, his life. All of that changes on the night of a full moon, as he is thrown into the secret and violent world of the Uratha on a tide of blood. If he is to survive he must embrace the beast within.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Constable Bradley was the last to arrive to the scene of the attack. Ambulances and RCMP patrol cars surrounded the small, one story house in the previously quiet neighborhood of the second Coquitlam Reservation. He grunted as he pulled his portly weight out of his car, maybe one day he'd lay off the Tim Horton's. He took a deep breath of the cool morning air, savoring the fresh, after rain smell before his sinuses were going to fill with the stench of congealed gore. Bradley was still five meters from what would have been the front door and already could see this was going to be bad.

It was some of the worst he had ever seen. The front door, or what was left of it, was blown clean off the hinges and lying in several tattered bits across the front yard. There was a massive gash torn across one of the pieces, which seemed to match a similar one across the house's blue, vinyl covering. There were puddles of blood and flesh scattered all over the place, and the sanitation crew milling around inside told him there was more were that had come from. He spotted Sergeant Willows, a gaunt, severe looking man leaning back against another patrol car, filling out the first in what was no doubt a high stack of paper work.

"What you calling it?" Bradley asked.

"Animal attack," replied Willows, gesturing with his pen to a forensic work measuring some mud prints with a yellow tape.

"Are you shitting me?" Bradley said, "What makes you think you can get away with calling a mess like this an 'Animal attack'?"

"Because people get really nervous and start yelling down our doors when the RCMP writes down 'No fucking idea'. Besides, forensics are already taking mold samples of some tracks we found leading from the house that match claw marks found on the door. This would be a pretty shut case except…"

"Except what?"

"The door's been thrown the wrong way. Whatever did this didn't break in, it was breaking out." Another officer approached them, a younger red haired kid still fresh on the force and therefore relegated to the menial grunt work no one else with a week of seniority over him wanted to do.

"I interviewed some of the neighbors, sir. None of them reported the Issacson residence having any pets or livestock."

"How the hell do people with a house like this keep a bear in it without anyone noticing?" asked Bradley.

"Wolf," Willows said.

"What?"

"Ask James over there," Willows said, gesturing back to the forensic worker taking mold samples "Forensics says the prints are wolf tracks, and we're talking about a pretty damn big one too. Like part husky or some shit."

Bradley started to look around at mud path leading away from the house. The tracks did look like a really big dog had run away, tearing out of the front door and dragging half of a woman's leg with it. He was about to go back to get his coffee out from his vehicle when something really weird caught his eye.

"Hey James, how many fingers do wolves have?"

"What?" James asked "Wolves don't have fingers. They have four pads on the front and hind legs with a small dot in front from their claws. Why are you asking?"

"Because," replied Bradley "this one had a thumb."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Two days earlier…_

Jason was having a really shitty day, and he was pissed off. It started before it even began, it was the night before the first day of midterms and he was running on, at best, two hours of sleep. His mom must have passed out at some point with the TV on to some obscure foreign flick because he spent the night kept awake by either barely inaudible whispers he couldn't understand, or this weird feeling of claustrophobic vertigo every time he did manage to drift off to sleep. When morning did come his mom was simultaneously too hung-over and too drunk to drive him to school, leaving Jason no other option but to take his bike. Since this was Vancouver in the middle of December, it was required to be freezing cold and pouring with rain. The smartass who had managed to con his way into being the weatherman for the morning news said it was going to let up by evening and be sunny tomorrow. Jason concluded that was about as likely as him getting a "C" or better in chemistry. The rain was so cold his hands were nearly frozen to the handle bars after five minutes, and was so thick he could hardly see more than 10 meters in front of him. Which is probably why he didn't see that huge, feral dog until it was on top of him.

As he crossed over the bridge on Pitt River road Jason slowed down and moved over more to the right to let a car pass by. A large, brown blur was all he sore before his bike crashed over and threw him off, Jason ate a good, solid meter of mud. Before he could ever process what had just happened to him it was there, the biggest dog he ever saw. At least he thought it was a dog. It was snarling and mangy, its fur a tattered rain-soaked mess. Like him the miserable weather must have left it in a foul mood, and it had found just the thing to vent on. Jason instinctively and slowly raised his hands up to protect his face.

"Easy there boy," was all he could say before the animal lashed out at him. The dog bit into his harm, it wasn't a deep wound but it hurt like hell none the less. Jason screamed and kicked the dog in its gut. Almost immediately Jason mentally kicked himself, pissing this thing off was probably the worst thing he could do. But instead the dog released its bit on him and then took off, running away into the trees.

"Shit," Jason said as he looked at his arm. There were five large puncture holes in his dark blue rain jacket; the fabric around the holes was getting darker from the bleeding. The wound didn't go deep, but he was bleeding badly, and if that dog had rabies he had five, giant vaccination needles to the stomach to look forward to. Jason remembered when a raccoon scratched up Daniel Malloway's face bad when they were clearing land for the Rez' volunteer construction project. He was one of the biggest, toughest, guys Jason knew, but by that third needle he was barely holding back those tears, screaming for his mommy in-between his teeth.

"Shit," continued to swear as he picked himself off. He should have seen this coming. Weird dogs he didn't know had being following him around for nearly a week like he had a ham and bacon sandwich in his pocket; it was only a matter of time before one them worked up the nerve to find out. The closest this whole mess had to a silver lining was that the ensuing medical examination from the school's nurse might be able to excuse him from today's testing. Maybe the whole week.

Jason pulled his bike out from the mud and hopped back on. He was still bleeding pretty badly, and since he wasn't the kind of nerd who carried an emergency first-aid kit on him at all times, getting to the school nurse as fast as possible was his only option. He got back on the bike and just focused on peddling as hard as he physically could. His arm hurt but he didn't think about it. He drowned out the pain by focusing on how absolutely, god damn terribly his life was turning out.

The Rez was a joke, the council tried to paint a big happy, Walmart style smiley face for the white people, but beneath it all was a string of broken homes and chronic alcohol abuse. As an "indigenous", Jason was supposed to go on about how noble and connected to nature his people were. Instead he got a failing grade and an appointment with a guidance councilor for a Multi-Cultural Day paper that basically said: "The St́o:lō people are really good at drinking whiskey." Now weird shit was happening, he was failing classes left and right, his mom had fallen into a drunken topor after his dad ran off to Alberta or God knows where, and now he was going to get rabies.

"Can this shit get any worse!" he impotently yelled out to no one in particular.

"Jesus Christ dude what happened to your arm?" Jason blinked in confusion for a second there, until he looked around and realized he was standing in the middle of the school's bike racks. It was completely vacant, only he was apparently dumb enough to bike in this downpour.

"You should go see the nurse bro," said the slack-jawed captain of the painfully obvious standing next to him.

"Gee, you think," Jason replied with barely veiled sarcasm.

He locked his bike without another word and got inside the school as fast as possible. His sneakers, filthy from his fall along the side of the road, tracked wide puddles of mud across the linoleum floor with an audible plop with every step he took. The first bell would ring in only a few minuets and so the halls were filled with the aimless pre-class chatter. The various cliques had auto-segregated themselves into their own little bubbles, discussing band names and celebrity hair styles and other things Jason could not even fake caring about. Most of the other students ignored him as he pushed his way through the mob towards the nurse's office, although he did catch a few glances cast his way, no doubt their attention was caught by his appearance which resembled a homeless drifter who lost a fight to an SUV's tailgate.

Weirdly, Jason couldn't recall the walk to the nurse's office taking this long. He wasn't a repeat customer there or anything, but he had been administered there on a few occasions in his four years here after a few fights he had been in turned really nasty. He noticed that the closer he got to his destination the smaller the crowds got, until he was alone in a hallway that stretched impossibly before him. It was like being caught in a dream, each step he took did nothing to diminish the distance before him.

_What the hell? _he thought to himself. _Am I hallucinating? Is this what rabies does to you?_ He glanced behind him; it was the same, an empty hallway of doors and lockers stretching off into a horizon that existed beyond the span of human sight. Time had lost all meaning in this place; he couldn't tell if he had been walking like this for one minuet or one hour. As he kept going Jason eventually became aware of shapes, movement, in the corner of his eye. At first they disappeared when he tried to look at them, but eventually they began to take on a terrifying solidity. They were ephemeral, shadowy figures and they stalked him. He tried to run but like with walking he seemed to be making no progress what so ever. It was like in an old Looney Toons cartoon where the characters run in place for a few seconds, only now those seconds where an eternity and the shadows were getting closer. As they drew nearer he could start to hear them, a chattering laughter that promised to become the soundtrack to his nightmares. Jason broke into a full on sprint, trying desperately to release himself from whatever force held him in this place.

Suddenly a bell rang and Jason tripped, smashing face first into the floor. He looked up and saw the familiar mass of students breaking up and heading to their first exams of the day. He was back in reality. Standing up Jason found he was right where he need to be, a wide, wooden double door marked "Administration". He opened it up and was greeted by the school secretary who had just finished a phone call.

"You need to be in class now, young man," she told him.

"No, I need to see the school nurse," said Jason, holding up his arm and indicating the frayed tares on his raincoat sleeve. The secretary opened her mouth to argue with him, but then the phone rang again. Instead she picked it up and waved Jason inside, gesturing to hall down her right.

Ms. Guiter, a large and appallingly rude woman with curly red hair, was the school nurse. She had all the charm and bed-side manner of a pregnant spider; overall Jason was not looking forward to this. But given his otherworldly experience in the hall just now, its clear that something is really wrong with him and once she saw the bleeding Jason was sure that he'd most likely get admitted to a real hospital. He opened to door to the nurse's office and immediately felt her eyes penetrating the back of his head like daggers.

"What do you think you're doing here?" asked Ms. Guiter, her voice like a harpy's mating call.

"I think I'm really sick Ms. Guiter," said Jason.

"First day of midterms, you don't think I've seen half a dozen wise guys try that on me already? Stop wasting my time Issacson and get to your class." Jason held up his arm and carefully stopped himself from shoving right into her stupid, fat face.

"A freaking feral dog or something bit me on the way the school. I was bleeding pretty bad and I'm seeing weird things. I think something's wrong with me." The scowl dropped from her face as Ms. Guiter shifted mental gears into the professional she was. Despite every bad thing said about her behind her back, Ms. Guiter was one hell of a nurse.

"Let me see," she said, taking a hold of Jason's arm. He looked away as she pulled back his sleeve, unwilling the see the carnage that was his flesh. Instead he heard her smirk.

"It's just a scratch," she said. Jason opened his eyes and looked down at his arm. It was just a scratch, a few small cuts like the kind you get from rubbing to close to a particularly thorny bush. Nothing like the deep puncture wounds he remembered bleeding from.

"But, but, there was a dog" he stammered, "and I really was bleeding. It was bad, I should have gone to the hospital by now."

"Stow it. You'll be fine you damn hypochondriac. Now stopping wasting my time and get out of my office."

"No, seriously you got to belie-"

"NOW!"

Jason bolted the hell out of there until he was back in the hall. He looked at his arm once again. Just some scratches.

_But I was bleeding,_ he thought, _no way I healed that quickly._ Jason kicked a nearby locker. It seemed he would be taking his mid-terms after all.

Yeah, it was a shitty day.

* * *

A large man in a black leather jacket walked purposely down the wet street, heedless to the rain sliding off him. The unmistakable scent of the fresh cub still hung around his senses, the odor was saturated in an unstable energy. There was little time left. The moon would reach its full zenith for the month in two days; they had to be ready.

He made a hard left into a street alley and opened a side door on a normal, unassuming apartment complex. Entering, he didn't bother to take off his soaking jacket, but he did wipe his muddy boots across a doormat before stepping on the hardwood floor. A mangy black cat lazed nearby on a rug in the center of the hallway. Immediately its ears picked up as the large man came inside, and started hissing the moment he looked at it. The man took a step forward and the cat bolted off. Damned animal hated his guts.

_Feeling's mutual_, he smirked to himself.

He took the second door on the right; it opened to a basement stairwell. He took the fourteen steps down until he arrived at a thick, solidly built, and securely tightened metal door. He knocked three times with his right knuckle, waited two heartbeats, knocked a fourth time, then entered. He saw before him the familiar scene of the pack's meeting hall. The walls bore many different pieces of art, paints mostly consisting of wolves and similar pack animals in a variety of styles: realistic, cartoon, impressionist, even some local Salish paintings. There were several wood carved totems lying around, but the largest, that of a killer whale, dominated the room. It had taken its place at the middle seat of a large, round table placed in the center of the room, almost as though it was the guest of honor.

"Took your time, Abrahms?" The man turned to one of his companions, a small, wiry woman with flaming red hair who went by the name of Annah.

"I had to find somewhere safe to change back," he said. Annah shrugged in lieu of a reply.

"Everyone's here, Simmone's got the Rite prepared and everything."

"Good," said Abrahms, slightly nodding his head. The simple gesture carried volumes of meaning, mostly gratitude with a mix of professional indifference, for those who knew how to read it.

Simmone was a taller woman, her dark skin and hawkish features spoke of a convoluted genetic history. Her hair was braided into many thick dreadlocks which sported a cacophony of beads, fetishes, raven feathers, and other miscellaneous crap. As the pack's shaman and spiritual liaison such eccentricity came with the territory.

The final member to join Abrahms at the table was Daniel, the pack's eyes and ears. Compared to the other members he had rather bland, nondescript features and dirty blonde hair and that almost never knew the touch of a comb. His rather athletic build hid the soul of a hacker and comic book geek. Guys like Abrahms no doubt gave him all sorts of shit growing up. If they had even the faintest inkling of what Daniel truly was they would have ran screaming into mountains and not stop until they reached another time zone.

The pack gathered around the table, taking their seats. Abrahms stood at his place, across from the whale totem. Simmone placed a large ceramic bowl, covered in highly detailed bas-reliefs of various lupine figures, in the center, equidistant from everyone. It contained a single, unadorned knife. Abrahms took the knife and held it tight up against his heart. No candle or incense burned, their smells would only interfere with the ritual. Abrahms focused on the taste of the boy he bit, remembered the heady, powerful stench of chaotic energy until he could once again taste it like the blood was in his mouth.

The shaman closed her eyes as a deep, guttural sound rumbled from her throat. It grew in pitch and volume until she violently jerked back her head and she bellowed out a blood-chilling, predator howl. It was like the howl of a wolf, but somehow older, and far more terrifying. Were it not for the extensive sound proofing Daniel had done to this place they would have been evicted long ago due to noise complaints.

Annah followed next. Her howl was louder, more powerful than Simmone's. It carried with it the resonance of an old and pained soul. Abrahms and Daniel joined in with howls of their own until all four were locked in harmony with the din of their primeval song. Abrahms stuck his tongue out and raised the knife to it, sliding the sharpened blade across until he tasted the familiar, acrid tinge of freshly spilled blood. He let his blood flow liberally down the blade of the knife for a few seconds then pulled it away. He handed the knife to Annah, who took it and licked the fresh blood of the blade. After which she passed it to Daniel, then Daniel to Simmone, who took the last of the blood just as the howl had died its last, solemn note.

"Interesting," said Annah, licking her lips.

"He is close," said Simmone.

"Just what we needed: another _Rahu_," said Daniel turning to Abrahms, "So boss, what can we expect here?"

"There's going to be a full moon in two days," said Abrahms, his speech was unimpeded, the cut had already healed, "that is when the First Change will take him. Do not underestimate him. He will be scared, confused, and possessed of a rage none of you should ever experience. We will need to control his movements until Annah or Simmone can soothe his anger and allow his humanity to take control again. With luck, he won't remember much."

"Innocents will die," said a fifth voice, it was deep, ancient, a shadow out of Earth's forgotten prehistory. It resonated from within the whale totem. "It is not matter of if, but how many? Luna's full face demands blood."

"Echoes is right," said Simmone "No _Rahu_ escapes their First Change without the blood of someone they care about on their hands." Abrahms nodded, it spoke of acknowledgement, and also shame.

"It is imperative we control his rampage and protect as many as we can. Our own safety is secondary to this concern. Daniel, do you have his address?"

"Right here, boss." Daniel held up a scrap of paper.

"Good, then we will begin staking out his home. We will move in shifts and report in every two hours. On the second night, we must all be ready. Make whatever excuse you need, just be there. And remember: The Herd must not know."

"The Herd must not know," said the rest of the pack.


End file.
